Crowns of Silver: Epistles
by Joy
Summary: Edmund, Lucy, Calormen. A series of letters in reverse. Set during 'The Horse and His Boy.' Now with BONUS CHAPTER! And guest star Peter, High King of Narnia.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis.

**#5**

_A letter from Edmund, King of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March and Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, to his little sister._

Dear Lu,

Have just escaped from Tashbaan in the dead of night. Remind me to tell Maeve they've repaired their docks since she was there. Susan is still single and making noises about setting impossible quests for her next suitors. I've already come up with a list of ideas, feel free to add your own. Rabadash was more of a tosser than we thought. I'm expecting either an invasion or a campaign of atrocious Calormene poetry to 'win her back.' We will be home soon. As promised, I got you a souvenir. The Tisroc will never miss it.

Love Ed.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis.

**Previously...  
**

**#4**

Dear Ed,

Don't drink the water! It's not worth the risk.

Rabadash writing poetry? I'm still trying to forget his speech when he first met Su. Ten minutes to work through the first three metaphors and by the end he wasn't even making sense! Please tell me Susan isn't falling for his 'charms'.

No, yes, maybe, ha! and I say yes but Peter and Susan would never agree.

Nothing new from the north and there's a pile of paperwork on Peter's desk that seems to be growing before my eyes.

Love Lu.

P.S. I think you're biased in this case.

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**Authors Notes:**

These drabbles are going BACKWARDS in time. This _isn't_ Lucy's reply to Edmund's letter. His letter was a reply to this one.

JBH: Thanks for the review and the kind words. I'll be borrowing some of them. :)

*

Dear Truth Teller,

Thank you so much for your review. Your kind words and the thoughtful way you chose them have shown me the truth of my writing ability. You're right; my work has no charm or character and is not nearly as humorous as your own.

Truly, C.S. Lewis must be thankful to have such a bastion of virtue defending his imaginary world. You have inspired me, Truth Teller. Others may give up when they realise they have no talent but I will keep writing, trying to improve. I'll never give up and it's all thanks to you.

-Joy


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously...**

**#3**

Dear Lu,

I'd wondered where that was. Rabadash continues to inflict his so-called poetry on us. I don't know how much longer I can stand these egotistical, narcissistic Calormenes. As one poet says, "I thought my razor was dull until I heard his speech."

…I can't believe I just wrote that. Maybe there's something in the water.

Is the Magnificent One back yet? Everything well at the Cair? Getting into trouble yet? Miss me? Would strangling Rabadash to shut him up be worth the international incident?

Love Ed.

PS. It does if the head of the NIA says it does.

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**AN:** Edmund quotes the 'poet' Groucho Marx from the movie 'Horse Feathers', which came out in 1932, about the time Lucy was born. Does _he_ know he's quoting Groucho? (shrugs) Also, NIA = Narnian Intelligence Agency.


	4. Chapter 4

**Previously...**

**#2**

Dear Ed,

It's nice to be missed. You also forgot your favourite boot knife. I found it pinning a mocking sketch of Rabadash to your desk. Luckily Susan never saw that but I'm surprised you could find anything in your study. How long has it been since you did any paperwork? Did you think running the country while the rest of you are off having adventures wouldn't keep me busy enough?

News from the north: Peter's cold but fine.

Don't forget my souvenir.

Love Lu.

PS. I'm not sure these notes count as vital enough to justify a NIA messenger.

* * *

**A.N.**

**JBH:** Thanks reviewing again. Perhaps I need to add to my disclaimer; Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis & the author wont be held responsible for any damage caused by choking on drinks while reading. :) I admit it's easier to take criticism when one has so many lovely reviewers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Previously...**

**#1**

Dear Lu,

We've arrived safely in Tashbaan. No sign of any pirates or sea monsters but it didn't feel like a proper sea voyage without someone forcing me to sing. Have discovered I forgot my hat. They only have turbans here; I'm going to be lobster red in no time.

Speaking of Calormene fashion, it's so gaudy that Rabadash actually blends in. I may go blind. Or mad if I keep hearing quotes from poets who wrote no poetry. Write soon. Please.

Love Ed.

PS. Remember to keep replies under 100 words; a laden swallow can only carry so much.

* * *

**AN:** Yes, that _was_ a Monty Python reference.

Well, that's the end...or rather the beginning. I started writing these for giggles so I was pleasantly surprised by the response. Yay me! And a big thank you to everyone who wrote a review. Now I have to get back to writing my other Crowns of Silver story...

**Monkey:** Flattery will get you nowhere...but please, don't let me stop you. :) Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you like the story so much.


	6. Bonus Chapter! part 1

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis.

**Epistles Bonus Chapter part 1**

The pen was a work of art, a kingly gift from one of the ruling Princes of the Seven Isles. Crafted from the finest Helian glass, ribbons of gold and burgundy spiralled within the grip, catching the light as its owner tapped it back and forth.

"Ed?"

"Yes, Lu?"

"How do you spell meretricious?"

King Edmund the Just looked up from the latest Narnian Intelligence Agency reports strewn across his desk. "I thought you were writing a note to Peter?"

Lucy pursed her lips thoughtfully and absently kicked at the hem of her rust coloured gown. "I'm still working on the draft," she said, eyes focused on the paper before her.

"So, who are you calling a prostitute?"

Lucy finally looked up at her brother, giving him an exasperated look that she'd spent many years perfecting. His expression was throne room perfect but she easily spotted the amusement in his dark eyes.

"Prat," she lowered her pen to focus on berating him. "It _also_ means showily or falsely attractive. I'm starting to wonder if there _was_ something in the water in Tashbaan."

"Oh, you're up to telling him about Rabadash?" Edmund said urbanely, ignoring the slight with the ease of an older brother who loved to torment his little sister.

"Obviously," Lucy nodded, her fidgeting fingers resting for a moment.

"You know you have to cut back on the adjectives with those notes," he reminded her.

"You and your precious swallows…" Lucy muttered, rolling her eyes. She'd heard this lecture so often she'd lost count.

Edmund drew in a deep breath, frowning as he set about Enlightening His Little Sister. Again. "The NIA uses swallows for a reason. They're not the fastest birds but they know damned well how to blend in. Unfortunately, for all their good points, they can only carry so much."

"I bet they could carry coconuts…" Lucy mumbled to herself, feigning a sudden interest in cleaning her pen's spiralling glass nib with an ink spotted rag.

"What was that?"

Lucy lifted her face. "Nothing," she said, smiling sweetly.

Edmund gave her a dark look that said he saw right through the innocent act that fooled diplomats, courtiers and royalty all the way from the Seven Isles to Telmar. Lucy's sweet smile didn't so much as flicker.

Edmund sighed.

"Fine, whatever," he said and picked up a sheaf of reports, trying to focus on them.

Moments later he looked up from his work yet again, gazing at his little sister with a mixture of annoyance, incredulity and amusement. "Lu, are you humming _In Praise Of Ale_?"

"Sorry Ed," she tried to stifle a giggle. "I missed a sea voyage so it's stuck in my head."

Edmund decided to give up trying to read for the time being. "What are you doing in here anyway?" he asked, cocking his head curiously. They all had their own studies and his wasn't that extraordinary. True they could both fit at his desk (as long as he kept his papers in piles and she remembered not to twirl her pen when it still had ink on it) but she wouldn't have to sit in the visitor's chair in her own study.

"I guess I spent so much time catching up on your paperwork in here that I just got used to the desk," she said with a helpless little shrug.

Edmund didn't quite believe her but let it go. He owed her big for finding the surface of his desk; Rabadash's visit had distracted him from many of his usual duties. Speaking of the ridiculous prince… "How much are you telling Peter about Rabadash?"

"There isn't room for much detail," she said, lifting her hands in annoyance at the hundred-word limit.

"Did you mention the battle?"

"You know he's going to be cranky to hear we won without him," Lucy smirked, tapping her pen against the paper. Cranky wouldn't _begin_ to describe Peter's reaction to the latest clash with Calormen.

"Just make sure he knows the south is fine for now," Edmund told her with his own smirk at their brother's probable reaction.

"For now?" Lucy frowned, swiftly picking up on the qualifier. "Rabadash is a donkey. What's he going to do, dig in his hooves and refuse to leave Anvard?"

Edmund bit back a snicker and replied with all the seriousness of the Just King of Narnia. "Rabadash is not the Tisroc," he explained, "he may never _become_ the Tisroc with such a curse upon him and with several younger brothers. Narnia cannot afford to ignore the many power hungry nobles in the Calormene court. They are as bad in person as I'd been led to believe from my sources."

"We did worse to Calormen back during the Pirate Wars and they didn't declare war on us then," Lucy pointed out with a frown.

"That's only because they had no proof…and it suited a newly crowned Tisroc," Edmund said. He was using his royal voice, the one he used for passing judgements in court, challenging offensive tossers to duels and outlining battle plans.

"Must you be so depressing?" Lucy complained. She knew Edmund took it upon himself to be their well prepared cynic but couldn't he at least wait until Rabadash was back in Calormen or they received news from their agents in the south? "How am I supposed to make Peter believe that he can focus on the giants in the north when you've got me thinking about how we'd hold off an invasion from Calormen?"

"Tell him, 'Edmund says the south is fine'." He was smirking ever so faintly as he spoke and Lucy wanted to throw something at him. She drew in a huffy breath.

"But that doesn't fit in with the sentence before, about the battle. It sounds silly if I just tack that on at the end," she said, glaring at the draft letter that looked more like a page of ink splattered scribbles.

"Well change that bit then," Edmund casually waved her concerns aside.

Lucy shifted her glare to the man sitting opposite her. "Not when I managed to summarise "the grand high nincompoop crown prince Rabadash the meretricious tried to conquer Archenland on his way to kidnapping Susan from Cair Paravel. Luckily we were warned in time to muster the reserves and break the siege of Anvard. Yes, I went too, no I didn't take the cordial, and this time I stayed with the archers." in one sentence."

"Ok, fine," Edmund said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. Narnia's Just King knew when to avoid battle. "If you managed that, I'm sure you can reassure Peter in eleven words or less."

Lucy gave her brother a long steady look. "Thanks Ed," she said levelly. "I knew I could rely on you."

King Edmund rolled his eyes then leaned forward, resting his elbows on piles of top secret NIA documents. "I gave you my suggestion, Lu. If you don't like it, maybe you should write another bit then come back to it."

Lucy pouted thoughtfully. "I should probably tell him Su's still unattached. If I don't say it outright he's going to think something ridiculous like she fell in love with the ass and we had to drag her away for the greater good of Narnia."

"Lu…" Edmund chided. "Peter's not that bad."

"Really?" She arched a brow imperiously, "and how many of _your_ suitors has he 'accidentally' scared off?"

"They don't deserve you if they can be scared off so easily."

"Well, of course," Lucy retorted, a woman named the valiant could never love a coward. "But it implies a certain lack of trust in our judgement. We do know how to say no." She fixed her brother with a hard look when he seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. "And don't think I don't know that you planted the idea of 'impossible quests for suitors' in Su's head."

Edmund's mouth twitched as he tried to restrain a smug grin. "Don't be silly, Lu," he said, "and what ever you say about Su, put it near the top; it's rather important."

Lucy mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'overprotective prat' before dipping her pen and scribbling on her paper. She graciously decided not to push the issue.

Lucy didn't like the bullying aspect of scaring away suitors but she had used the overprotective, dangerous older brothers excuse herself. Certain suitors thought that being the younger sister of a woman like Susan would make her desperate for male attention. They wouldn't take a threat from her seriously (despite her reputation as a warrior queen) but would head for the nearest border when either the Wolf's-bane or the Wand-breaker was mentioned.

"Ok," she mused when she finished. Fiddling with her pen she watched the light dance across the ribbons of gold and crimson within the crystalline glass. "Is that it? What have I missed?"

Edmund spoke without looking up from his papers. "You mentioned the skirmish?"

"Check," she said, scanning her draft letter.

"Su's marital status?"

"Check," she rolled her eyes.

"Rabadash is an ass?"

Lucy looked up from her letter. "It's a bit complicated to go into here."

"You could mention it and that we will tell him the whole story when we join him," Edmund looked up, gesturing absently with a classified report.

Lucy smirked sardonically. "You mean I should warn him that I'm joining him on the Northern front?"

"He stopped ordering you to stay at the Cair years ago, Lu," Edmund pointed out. They shared a look, acknowledging the fact that Edmund had been pivotal in that decision.

Lucy pouted and was about to say something blindingly witty when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Edmund said after sharing a curious look with Lucy.

Queen Susan the Gentle entered the room with a rustle of blue silk skirts and a faint waft of lavender perfume. She paused just inside the door and fixed them with a stern look. "Here you are!"

Edmund noticed Lucy twitch guiltily and adopted his best diplomatic face. Susan had been in a bad mood since their days in Tashbaan and Rabadash's attempted invasion just made it worse.

"Yes, here we are," he said casually, watching Lucy's reactions from the corner of his eye. "Did you want something, Su?"

"I've been looking for Lucy for hours," she said, frowning at her little sister. In one hand she held a sheaf of papers. "I wanted to change the week's menus; conditions have changed since you wrote them, Lu," she spared her sister an apologetic look for altering her work but Lucy shrugged it aside. "But I cannot find the tithe from the south; it should have arrived while we were gone yet it's not in the book."

"I couldn't remember your system," the younger queen admitted. Edmund could have sworn she was blushing faintly. "So I wrote it on a piece of paper and put it inside the cover."

"Oh," Susan deflated a little. "Did you end up finding space for that souvenir?" she asked, walking over to them. "How Ed managed to sneak something that size out of the Tisroc's palace without being caught, I'll never know." She shook her head chidingly in her brother's direction but he merely looked pleased with himself.

"I had to re-arrange my collection but everything fits," Lucy said, giggling at her brother's expression. He was just waiting for someone to ask how he'd done it; so both women refused to do so on principle.

"What are you doing?" Susan asked when she came close enough to see the state of Edmund's desk.

"Trying to compose a message to Peter," Lucy said. "It's difficult to cover everything important in only a hundred words," she darted a teasing glance at her brother who rolled his eyes.

"Did you mention Cor?" Susan queried, leaning against the side of the polished wood desk.

"Hmm, no," Lucy did a quick word count of the letter, "do you think I should? It's not politically urgent is it?"

Edmund cocked a brow and mouthed the word 'meretricious'. Lucy pouted; she was _not_ skimping on words elsewhere just so she could call Rabadash names.

Susan missed the byplay as she was examining the desktop. "Perhaps not urgent but still important I'd…" She trailed off then turned to Edmund. "What's this?"

She was pointing to a mark in the polished wood that looked suspiciously like a knife gouge.

Lucy swallowed a giggle and turned to her brother with her best innocent expression. "Yes Ed, how did that happen?"

Susan noticed the death-look Edmund was giving Lucy. "On second thought, perhaps I'd rather not know." They both turned to her with matching guileless expressions and she laughed. "I need to get back to the kitchens. Try not to kill each other while I'm provisioning your army, ok?"

Edmund scowled at Lucy when Susan left, closing the door behind her. "Thanks a lot, Lu!"

Lucy scoffed. "Would you rather I _told_ her how that got there?"

"At least now I know what you're really doing in here," he sighed, shaking off his irritation.

"Maybe I missed you?" She smiled.

"I believe you said, 'ha!' to that," he smirked. "No, you were trying to hide from Su!"

"Why would I do that?" she asked innocently.

"Because she's going over everything you've done for the household while she was gone and wants your input while she 'fixes' it."

Lucy sighed. "I didn't make any changes; honestly the staff could handle everything without me. I think she's still trying to interest me in managing the Cair. She enjoys it. I don't."

"Motherly fussing makes her happy, you know that," Edmund reminded her, "she needs it after being courted by Rabadash."

"I know, Ed," Lucy said with a touch of irritation, "and I already gave her most of my morning. I also know that she's going to be back in less than an hour…"

Edmund nodded thoughtfully. "Very well then," he declared, standing abruptly and gathering his papers.

"Ed?" she looked up at him curiously.

"Susan knows you're here now, Lu," he explained, motioning her to rise. "We'll just have to hide somewhere else."

Lucy grinned. Cleaning her pen nib, she fixed the stopper back into her ink bottle and gathered the rest of her things. "Where are we going?" Clearly her brother already had a plan. Edmund _always_ had a plan.

"Your study," he said over his shoulder as he moved to one of the many bookcases along the walls.

"Isn't that a bit obvious?" she asked, trailing after him.

"She's already looked there, she's unlikely to go back," Edmund said. He twisted a bust of King Frank IV ninety degrees to the left and the bookcase swung outwards revealing a stone wall with what looked like a random pattern carved into it. He pressed three sections in order then gave it a kick.

This door moved back then slid sideways into the wall, revealing a dimly lit passageway. Sharing a mischievous grin the pair entered the secret passage. The doors closed behind them leaving the room empty and the desk bare save for a scar in the wood.

**TBC...**

* * *

**Authors note:** You may have noticed that this chapter is not a drabble. You also may have noticed that it's been a while since I've posted; sorry about that. It's my first time writing Susan, so I hope I did her justice.

Glass pens? Yes, there are some pretty ones made of Venetian glass.

Another Monty Python quote? It was too good an opportunity to miss.

The Pirate Wars? Why yes, Maeve did have something to do with that. (And one day I may get around to sharing that tale with the rest of the world...)

Lucy's souvenir? Still a mystery...

Peter's reaction? Coming up next.

Reviews? Loved, adored and appreciated as always :)


	7. Bonus Chapter! part 2 Peter

"Sire, you wished to see me?"

"Su didn't marry Rabadash!"

Hasan ibn Ghazi ibn Majid al-Achernar al-Faris, late of the deserts of northern Calormen, now sworn knight of Narnia, halted his entrance mid-step. The tent flap fell about his shoulders like a silken cape of red and gold.

"That's good news, Sire," he said cautiously. Despite over a decade in Narnia his voice still held the distinctive accent of his homeland.

Nonplussed but hiding it well, Hasan glanced about the High King's tent suspiciously but everything was in order. Braziers fought back the northern chill and colourful Narnian rugs covered the floor. The High King's sleeping pallet was partly hidden behind a partition. In the centre of the tent was a long table covered by a detailed map of the area. Markers dotted the surface, representing the forces on both sides of the conflict. A smaller table was to one side, for the king's personal use, and it was at this that Peter sat.

"But I doubt that's the matter you wished to see me about," Hasan stepped cautiously further into the tent. He'd long since abandoned the traditional head covering of his tribe but his dark clothing retained the flavour of his homeland, even if crafted by Narnian tailors.

Peter looked up in time to catch the man's expression and was forced to chuckle. "No, old friend," he said, "but that matter can wait while I celebrate the good news that Susan is safely single back in Cair Paravel. Please, sit." He gestured with a tiny roll of parchment to the collection of chairs positioned about the tent.

Hasan chose the chair closest to his king, settling his sabre of desert steel before he lifted his head thoughtfully.

"What else does Queen Lucy write?"

"How did you know it was from Lucy?" Peter asked, handing over the note.

Instead of reading it, Hasan lifted the missive to his nose and sniffed. "Your sisters scent their ink with their perfume. It's an old Seven Isles ladies' custom, though I believe it originated on the isle of Helia," he explained with a grin, white teeth flashing briefly against his swarthy face.

Peter leaned back in his chair with a touch of a caution. All fold up wooden chairs were inherently fragile; even if they belonged to a king. Peter refused to slow down his army by forcing them to bring real furniture on campaign.

"That explains how you know about it; your lady wife probably introduced them to the idea," Peter said as the other man read. The note was brief (Ed could be such a nut about word count) so Hasan went over it with extra care to glean every drop of meaning. "Speaking of the Lady Portia, where is she?" He might have been worried rather than merely curious if Hasan had not been so utterly unconcerned.

"The carpenters had some doubts about her planned alterations to the ballista," Hasan shook his head with amused resignation.

Enemies of such size were forcing them to revise their tactics but Hasan suspected Peter was actually enjoying the opportunity to be creative. Certainly the giants were not enjoying the results of that creativity.

Small enough for a crew of two and capable of firing arrows the size of spears, the ballista were playing a significant role against the giants. Not everyone could take down a giant in a straight fight the way Peter could.

Fortunately for the Narnians, Peter was not only a magnificent warrior, but he knew how to lead. More than just inspiring an army to follow him, the High King promoted the right people then listened to their advice.

This resulted in not only a superior army but also great personal amusement for Peter when his advisers were those like Hasan and Portia.

"Master Thumbkin wants every detail spelled out, while Portia dislikes explaining anything. She's had too much of her work stolen by patronising males to willingly give up her secrets. In short, Majesty," his eyes danced with mirth when he lifted them to his king, "it's the usual argument and she should be here shortly."

"Shortly? Are you sure? Dwarfs love a good argument." Peter had learnt that the hard way during the early years of his kingship.

It took no great feat of imagination to picture his stout red beared master carpenter (short even for a dwarf) facing off against his refined Helian engineer. It happened at least once a campaign. There was even a betting pool (which Peter was fairly certain Edmund had started…) riding on if Thumbkin would ever win.

Peter was about to ask if Hasan was exempt from the pool and if so, was he using someone else to place his bets, when the lady under discussion slipped gracefully into the tent.

"Please forgive my tardiness, your Majesty," Portia curtseyed demurely, black skirts puddling about her. Like her husband she was a stark contrast to the traditional bright Narnian colours that decorated the royal tent. "I was just-"

"Discussing matters with Master Thumbkin again," Peter finished for her. His expression was serious but his blue eyes were merry. "Tell me, who won this time?"

Portia rose from her curtsey with the sort of grace that spoke of training since childhood. The gleam of her understated silver jewellery was like slivers of moonlight in the night sky.

"Why both of us of course, Sire," she said, a mysterious little smile upon her pale face. "Master Thumbkin is able to work on something far more interesting and challenging than the usual army carpentry while I am able to make it to my meeting with your Majesty only a little late."

In truth her refusal to discuss details was due to impatience rather than paranoid secrecy. Dwarfs were master miners and craftsmen, no doubt about it; their weapons and armour were second to none. However, when it came to mechanical things, things like siege engines, which depended on a thorough knowledge of physics and a spark of creativity…they just didn't quite get it. They couldn't seem to keep all of the steps and interactions of the various parts straight in their heads.

Thumbkin wanted to understand _how_ every invention worked, not just what it was made of, which Portia explained quite thoroughly (if not, how could he properly craft the pieces?). The ensuing 'discussions' were almost enough to make her scream. Almost.

Peter bit back a snicker. Sounded like the lady's winning streak was still intact. Hasan wasn't so restrained and laughed outright.

"Never change, O moon of my delight," he smiled up at his petite wife, a hint of adoration in his gaze.

"If I did, we'd lose the income from all those betting pools," Portia smiled, her own eyes unusually soft.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that," Peter interrupted, putting a mental tick beside the question of Hasan's involvement in the gambling. "Have a seat, Portia," his gesture was absent, yet still somehow inherently regal.

Portia was arranging her skirts about her chair when she smelt the faint scent of orange blossoms and put it together with the scrap of parchment in her husband's hand. "What news from Queen Lucy?"

Peter smiled, nodding when Hasan made to hand over the letter so Portia could read it herself. "I know all about the ink-scenting trick, Madam," he chided, pouring goblets of mulled wine for the three of them. He may be High King but he prided himself on being able to dress and feed himself. "You cannot impress me that easily."

Hasan and Portia shared an amused glance that left unspoken the works, _well not anymore_.

"I cannot say I'm surprised by the Calormene's behaviour," Portia said moments later, lowering the missive.

"Neither can I," Peter agreed, the serious expression of a High King settling upon his features. "It's not the first time one of Susan's suitors has taken rejection badly and it probably wont be the last. The Tisroc has been subtly testing our borders for years now. Remember the bandits Edmund and Lucy ran into? They still wont tell us the full story on that."

"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to outright battle against Calormen but you don't make plans based on hope; that's why I left so much of the army behind, in case Edmund needed them." He sighed and rubbed his jaw. "He says that it's fine down there now but how can I judge what the Tisroc will do when I've never met him face to face?"

"You're not missing much, Sire," Hasan assured him, leaning forward in his chair. "I would say that the Tisroc (may he fall into a cesspit and never be found) will take the path of least risk to himself; to his life or his pride. Sadly, without a clearer view of the current political situation I couldn't say which path that was," he finished, spreading his hands apologetically.

"I'll make sure Ed talks to you when he gets here; this isn't something I want to sit on. One thing I _do_ know about Calormenes is that they're quick to take advantage of you."

"The Seven Isles have a proverb about Calormenes," Portia spoke, one corner of her mouth curled up into a sly smile as she continued, "There are only two types of Calormenes - those who give bribes and those who take them."

Peter choked on his wine at her words. Portia shrugged off his glare with a faint smile and calmly sipped from her own goblet.

"Having lived in Tashbaan I'm forced to admit it's true," Hasan wisely ignored the byplay.

"And which were you, dear?" Portia teased lightly.

Anyone else (including sovereigns) would have been treated to a lecture about him being a nomadic tribesman of the Great Desert, not a Calormene and just because he'd been raised in Tashbaan as a noble hostage for his tribe did _not_ mean that he was one of those honourless, decadent, arrogant, meretricious wind-bags.

Instead, Hasan gave the question serious consideration before replying. "Both. It's the only way to survive in a vipers' nest like that."

"Speaking of vipers," Portia mused, "I wonder what happened to Rabadash. It sounds like he's still alive…"

"Well, O brightest star of my heavens, they say something about-"

"I know what they say," Portia interrupted her husband, gesturing with the note. "Two words that can't possibly mean what they seem to and if so, then how?"

"We will be able to hear the entire story from Ed and Lu when they arrive," Peter reminded them. "I hope they remember to bring enough gloves and socks among the supplies. It gets colder this far north. Susan usually remembers such details but I'm sure recent events could distract her…"

Hasan and Portia eyed him oddly.

"What is it?" Peter tried not to fidget under their stares. Why was it friends could be so much more nerve wracking than enemies?

"You were saying that Queen Lucy was coming," Hasan prompted.

"So the letter says."

"She's riding to war…" Hasan continued expectantly.

"Yes?" Now Peter was starting to give them weird looks, "your point?"

"We were merely marvelling over your Majesty's lack of reaction to her Majesty riding to war," Portia temporised. The High King usually had many things to say about his littlest sister anywhere near the front lines. Amusing as his rants could be, she wasn't in any hurry to listen to another one.

"I have long since given up trying to keep Lucy from battle," Peter said stoically, taking a sip of wine to hide the disgusted pull on his mouth at the very words. "She's a grown woman, a queen who can take care of herself – and others. She's been trained by the best and is a more sensible leader than most of the officers. I respect her abilities and I trust her."

Portia took a sip of her own wine to hide her growing smile. Hearing him trying (and failing) not to sound so put-upon reminded her of her numerous older brothers when she'd talked them into a corner.

Portia would put money on his entire speech being a regurgitation of every argument his siblings (and others) had brought to bear. Multiple times judging by how quickly he rattled them off.

Casually leaning back in his chair, Hasan's warm brown eyes twinkled madly as he shared a glance with his wife. How often had he used a similar tone with her; the 'yes dear' of husbands from the Lone Islands to Telmar?

Portia followed his thoughts and was forced to look away. Laughing in the face of a High King (even if he was a friend) would be bad manners.

Peter had the sneaking suspicion that not only was he not convincing his friends in the slightest, but they found his attempts horribly amusing. They were resolutely refusing to look at each other and he was pretty sure his tent furnishings weren't _that_ interesting.

He knew – rationally – that Lucy was an asset in battle but unless it came down to defending the Cair, he didn't see why she should have to fight.

At least he'd won the fight on not taking the fire-flower cordial to every skirmish and hunting party. It was too precious to be wasted on anything short of fatal wounds and its presence had encouraged an alarming amount of Narnian soldiers to act recklessly in battle.

He could (and did) argue that his motivation was to preserve a resource and bolster discipline within the army.

The real reason was for Lucy.

His youngest sister would never have the heart to let someone in pain go without healing, even if it was as minor as a sprained ankle, even if she knew – rationally – that the cordial should be saved for more serious wounds. To save her from having to make that choice, he removed the very possibility.

Peter shook his gloomy thoughts from his mind and focused on his audience. "I admit that I would worry about her less if her position was similar to yours, Madam."

Portia lowered her wine goblet and gazed at him blandly.

"You would prefer if your baby sister constantly travelled with the army, excelled in a profession centred on clever ways to kill others and designed ingenious machines to deal death and destruction from a distance?"

Peter blinked. _If she put it that way…_

"Onto the business I called you here for," Peter coughed and straightened in his chair. "Oreius will be here shortly with the others and I wanted an update on our engines of war before that. You mentioned changing the design of the ballista, how exactly will this alter its capabilities?"

Portia looked at Hasan.

Hasan looked at Portia.

Using married-people-telepathy, they decided to bide their time. It would be far more entertaining to pursue this conversation when Lucy was in the room. For now they'd let it drop and at least try to act like professionals.

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Authors note:

First, a big thank you to everyone who's reviewed. It's my first time writing Peter so I hope I did him justice. (He's known as magnificent, so that's asking a lot…)

Army engineers are awesome; in medieval times they could actually argue with the nobles in charge of the armies.

The proverb about Calormenes is actually a Russian proverb about the Chinese.

Anyone even slightly curious about how an excessively educated lady from the Seven Isles married a desert prince from Calormen and ended up serving in the Narnian army?

Or perhaps I should write a day in the life of the Narnian army and explain what's this obsession Peter has with socks…

Reviews will be treasured and adored.


	8. Letter 6

**Letter #6**

_Dear Peter,_

_Ed and Su have arrived home early. It required sneaking out of Tashbaan in the dead of night. Su is still single. Rabadash is still an ass. Now literally. Also, the missing Archenland crown prince was found in Tashbaan. _

_You missed a minor war in Archenland when Rabadash tried to come north for Su. Ed thinks it was part of a plan to get a foothold on our border. _

_It failed spectacularly. No further invasions likely this year so focus on the giants._

_Ed will fill you in when we come north with reinforcements._

_Love Lu (& Ed)_

_

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**Authors note:** And that, my friends is the end of the Epistles series. Hope you enjoyed it and a big thank you to everyone who reviewed._  
_


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